Like so many Americans, my maternal family came here via chain (member by
member) immigration at the turn of the last century. Our Swedish ancestors
arrived not long after the American Civil War, reaching Chicago just in time
for the Great Fire, and eventually settling to rural log cabin life. One
Finnish relative landed on a major stop on the Underground Railroad before
going insane, leaving his wife  a non-English-speaking teen fleeing
servitude  to a life of single motherhood and constant Westward movement.

After a brief stint panning gold in Alaska, my free-thinking Swedish
grandfather (Old Pappa) and Finnish grandmother (Mummi, a.k.a., Portland
Snow Princess of 1932) purchased farmland taken from the Yakama Indian
Nation in the Pacific Northwest and tried their hands at becoming good,
middle-class Americans.